


misunderstood

by kopi_pheng



Series: Lost Children [3]
Category: Descendants (Disney Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, How Do I Tag, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Pre-Movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-12 01:14:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19218625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kopi_pheng/pseuds/kopi_pheng
Summary: Not five minutes after Carlos’ feet first touch Isle soil, he’s approached by two individuals he could only term as minions.[au where villain kids were adopted off the isle when they were babies]





	misunderstood

Not five minutes after Carlos’ feet first touch Isle soil, he’s approached by two individuals he could only term as minions. _Great_ , he thought. _I’m going to die here._

“Hey, fellas,” he tried, doing his best not to show fear in his demeanour. “How’s it hangin’?” The minions just continued watching him. They exchanged a mirthful glance before approaching. Carlos knew better than to run. With dogs, it just made them more excited and motivated them to chase you down. With these goons, he thought it would just prolong his suffering. He didn’t know his way around and there could easily be more of them lurking around somewhere. Carlos raised his arms in surrender. “Take it easy on the merchandise, okay?” he joked.

They didn’t go very far, but the guys’ grips on his upper arms were firm enough to bruise. Carlos grimaced, there was no real need for this kind of treatment. He had no intention of escaping. Not yet, anyway. Not without a better game plan.

Carlos was now in one of the buildings he had noticed when the Auradon guards dropped him off. From the outside, he wouldn’t have thought that the place could be so empty. The spartan interior gave an illusion of cleanliness, although Carlos was kicking up enough dust to send him into a sneezing fit.

“Wait,” one of the guys holding him growled. Carlos wanted to roll his eyes. What else could he do? He was still being held. At least he hadn’t been handcuffed or anything. Did they have handcuffs on the Isle of the Lost? They certainly didn’t have a policing system like Auradon did. Carlos didn’t understand, though. He looked around again. Nope, still no one here. What was the point of dragging him to some uninhabited place? Was he really going to be murdered?

Carlos’ mounting panic was interrupted by a resounding “Welcome!” The following cackle reverberated against the walls and made the sound echo. The effect left Carlos almost breathless. The speaker was just feet away from him now. Wrapped up in all-black robes with her horns curving to the sky, it didn’t matter that the woman wasn’t very tall; her presence was substantial enough to suffocate. Maleficent sure could command attention, Carlos thought. He almost didn’t notice the smaller figure following behind her.

“Now, little boy.” Her voice was so sweet, Carlos would probably have been fooled by it if he didn’t know what true affection sounded like. “Tell me your name.”

Carlos didn’t know if he should answer. What would the consequences be, if he gave his name to Maleficent, one of the evillest villains to have terrorized this earth? What would become of him if he didn’t? Either way, he thought it wouldn’t end well for him. Carlos couldn’t speak anyway. Carlos opened his mouth, but nothing came out. The minions tightened their holds on him. He could feel blunt fingernails pressing marks into his skin.

"Carlos Radcliffe, right?” Carlos had nearly forgotten the girl who had been standing next to Maleficent. “Just transferred to Villeneuve this year?”

He nodded emphatically. Carlos didn’t get released, but the pressure on his arms became slacker. At this point, he was thankful that they were still guarding him this way. He wasn’t sure if his legs could hold him upright. Despite his relief, Carlos’ mind raced. Who was this girl? Why was she on the Isle too? If she was from here, how could she have known so much about him? And how come she dared stand so close to Maleficent?

Taking a closer look, Carlos realized that he recognized her. Although she was dressed in a purple top, tight-fitting black pants and tall leather boots, Carlos knew that there was only one person at Villeneuve School, in all of Auradon, who had hair of that particular shade. How could he have missed that? The lack of color-clashing might have had something to do with it. Or maybe it was just because they weren’t in the same classes. Still, that didn’t answer the bigger question: Why was Lady Mal, daughter of Princess Aurora and Prince Philip, on the Isle of the Lost?

“Radcliffe….” Maleficent pondered, gaze wandering across the room. “That sounds familiar. Doesn’t it, Mal, darling?” The woman looked at Mal for the first time since she entered this place, as far as Carlos could tell. He must have been mistaken, but he thought she had an indulgent look in her eyes. Indulgent of… Mal?

“Dalmatians?” Mal threw out. “Cruella had a huge thing for them or something.” Carlos was panicking again. At the back of his mind, he had known that Cruella was here too, but to have it mentioned so casually pitched him into a frenzy. The woman was notorious for being capable of great cruelty. As someone who was constantly surrounded by and took care of dogs, the very dalmatians that Cruella had targeted, Carlos couldn’t help but feel threatened.

"Of course!” Maleficent’s shrill voice commanded Carlos’ attention even when he was consumed by something else. “Of course. Just some civilians. Not much to them, is there?” She was tapping a long, dark fingernail against her chin now. “But you!” Maleficent whipped around to face Carlos. Her gaze was a poisonous green, deep enough that Carlos felt like he was drowning. “A fine young man like you, studying at the school. So small, probably overlooked, hmm?” Maleficent seemed to be waiting for an answer, not that Carlos could speak. “You must hear a lot of things. Things you shouldn’t know about?”

Carlos didn’t understand. He stammered but couldn’t get any words out. It was true that the others at school tended to ignore him. He was a country boy, derided for his obliviousness to all the latest trends and technologies that Auradon was blessed with. Most of the things he heard was about how backward he must be, though. Carlos doubted that was what Maleficent was asking about.

Casting about for a clue, his eyes landed on Mal and the strange expression she had on her face. Mal held her body stiffly, slightly hunched up. She looked as though she was holding her breath. The look in her eyes suggested to Carlos that she was panicking too, maybe just as much as he was. She caught Carlos looking and her gaze turned pleading. But pleading for what?

Mal took a deep, silent breath. Then she took another one. She seemed to be putting herself together again, centering herself. By the time Maleficent looked at her again, Mal was looser-limbed and slouching. Carlos was sure that her posture would draw the ire of Villeneuve’s etiquette master, but whatever Maleficent saw seemed to reassure her. Maleficent tilted her head at him, gesturing for Mal to take over. _Get to it_ , was what Carlos imagined she meant.

“Plans.” The statement seemed to hover in the air between them, existing on a different plane. Mal was staring at Carlos with such keen intensity, but it didn’t inspire the kind of terror that Maleficent had, despite the subject matter. “Conspiracies, schemes, plots. Anything that could be levied against the villains on the Isle. Do you know anything like that?” Mal had been making her way closer to him as she spoke. By the end of it, she was right in front of him. She bent down and put her hands on his shoulders. With Carlos at age eight, and Mal a year older than him, she practically towered over the boy. Mal leaned over, putting her mouth right next to his ear. “Anything. Just tell her something. Please.”

There was no reason to trust her. Despite her being one of the most regal, remarkable, and revered students at the school, in Auradon, Mal was standing firmly on the side of the villains now. Her entire bearing suggested it. The sly smirk on her face was more than enough to convince Carlos. But it didn’t. The fear in her voice, the sheer dread, told Carlos otherwise.

Carlos was smart. He was being slated to skip two grades for the next school term. Even though logic was telling him not to trust Mal, not when he didn’t have enough data to verify anything, there was a feeling in his gut that there were some complex machinations at work here. Carlos wasn’t brave or daring. He didn’t take risks, had never gone on a school field trip, let alone any adventures.  But something told him to take a chance on this, and his nerves settled when he decided to do so.

Carlos was smart. He knew that this situation could easily go south for him, maybe even Mal too. He wasn’t a hero, not like some of the princes in Auradon whose stories he’d heard since infancy. Carlos hoped that he was reading the signs right.

“I – I – I heard -” Carlos swallowed; tried again. “Surveillance. They’re setting up cameras to monitor you.” It wasn’t true, of course. At least, Carlos didn’t know if it was true. It was just one of the only possibilities he came up with that he thought could appease Maleficent. It probably won’t be a lie she can validate, either.

“Of course! That must be why the TVs suddenly work again!” Once again, Carlos was lost. Nevertheless, he felt a rushing wave of relief that Maleficent’s scrutiny was removed from him.

“Good job, Mal. That’s my little girl.” Carlos was stunned. What? Before he could think the words through in more detail, Maleficent snapped at the guards who were still holding him. “Let him go. Leave him at the docks or something.” Maleficent waved a hand and sauntered off, the billow of her dark cloak following her out.

The minions didn’t take much time to obey, starting to drag Carlos away almost immediately. He started to struggle and fight back. He didn’t know where the docks were or what was there, but the slant to Maleficent’s voice did not make it sound like a pleasant prospect.

“Wait!” Mal rushed to follow them. Thankfully, the goons stopped to regard Mal, though Carlos could still feel the pain in his arms. Mal appeared so at ease, standing firm and strong before them. “I’ll take care of him. You guys can just take off.” Her grin was back, her arms folded lazily against her chest.

To Carlos’ surprise, the minions let him go. Once the support was gone, he dropped to the floor. “Toodles.” Mal called, waving at them as they left, disregarding the Carlos-shaped puddle on the cold ground.

A loud metallic bang signaled their departure. Once gone, Mal too fell to the floor, her knees making a painful sound against it. “Hey, are you okay?” Her hands roved over Carlos, nudging him at some places, searching for damage. They stopped as they reached Carlos’ hands, clasping them tight.

Carlos pulled himself up with some help, mirroring Mal’s kneeling position. “I – I think so.” His words stumbled over each other. Carlos still felt so jarred from the experience. It was over, though, he reminded himself. Whatever could have happened didn’t. And he was sure that the scenario could easily have ended up much worse for him.

 “Come on, Carlos. Let’s go” This is only the second time he’s heard Mal say his name, but it sounded worlds different from the first time she said it. The previous time, Mal’s voice hadn’t been trembling so. “This place gives me the creeps.”

Mal led Carlos to a similar building, right beside the one they had been in. This one was cleaner, lit with actual lights instead of having weak sunlight filter through broken or newspaper-covered windows. Carlos thought the place was empty until Mal pulled him up some metal stairs to an upper floor. Here, there was a table, with a couple of bean bag chairs haphazardly drooping on the carpeted floor. The windows were curtained, some spray-painted to give a stained-glass effect. It was still pretty sparse, if Carlos compared it to his room on the farm, or even the one he had at Villeneuve. Still, despite the industrial look, the place could be described as cosy. Not quite lived-in, but comfortable.

Carlos followed Mal’s example and collapsed into one of the bean bags. He felt boneless; all his strength drained from his encounter with Maleficent. Just thinking about it made Carlos’ skin crawl, but the moment he did, he couldn’t get it out of his brain. He got up and dragged his seat nearer to Mal. Carlos tried his best to sit properly in a chair that refused to keep its shape. He had serious matters to discuss. Mal, being the only other person who was involved and who Carlos thought knew more than she was letting on, was the only one he could talk to.

“What just happened? Back there. With Ma –” Something stuck itself in Carlos’ throat, refusing to budge. “What was that?”

Mal didn’t answer. She was staring into the distance. Carlos could understand that; he was still feeling pretty out of it himself. But his curiosity was stronger than the lingering fear.

Carlos snapped his fingers in front of her face, then waved his open hand to see if her eyes tracked them. “Mal.” He called her name a few more times, but no reaction was forthcoming. “Lady Mal?” he finally tried.

The response that designation provoked was huge. The older girl rounded on him immediately, eyes burning with a fire he couldn’t comprehend. “Don’t call me that!”

Instantly, Mal’s rage was gone, as if put out by an icy flood. She wrapped her arms around her legs, almost falling out of the bean bag. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have shouted at you.” Mal rubbed at her eyes then faced Carlos again, expression much softer now. “What were you saying?”

“Can you tell me what that was about?” No, that wasn’t right. Carlos definitely wanted to find out what was going on, but the scope was wrong. The incident with Maleficent was going to scar him for life, but that wasn’t all there was. He still didn’t understand why he was here, at the Isle. He didn’t know what Mal was doing here too. He didn’t know why there was a churning feeling in his stomach even now. All he was sure of was that there was something rotten here, and it didn’t originate from the Isle.

Carlos didn’t know how to convey his feelings to Mal. Despite his conviction, he thought Mal might call him silly or deem him to be overreacting. Mal started talking, forcing Carlos to focus on the words instead of the thoughts running wild in his head. One thing at a time, he decided.

“Maleficent –” Carlos couldn’t wrap his head around it: How could Mal say her name without any trouble? “– thinks that we’re –” Here, Mal stopped. She appeared to be having some difficulty with the words. “She thinks that High King Adam and High Queen Belle are trying to _get rid of_ the villains on the Isle.” Carlos didn’t need Mal’s strange tone to translate those words. Growing up with their parents’ stories as they had, Carlos knew when the word ‘kill’ was being substituted.

“Auradon used to send provisions to the Isle, did you know that?” Mal phrased it as a question but left no time at all for Carlos to process, let alone answer it. “Food, clothes, supplies. _Materials and resources_ ,” Mal recited. Carlos recognized that phrasing from one of his classes. Intro to Politics, maybe? Economics 101?

“We used to send people to deal with problems here too. Things like garbage and electricity.” At Mal’s look, Carlos just shook his head. It was enough for her to continue. “The vil – the people here were cared for. We made sure that the Isle of the Lost was a livable place, had all the amenities that we had.” Carlos watched as Mal stood up, pacing across the room. “We don’t do that anymore. Sometimes things get sent over, but not with regularity. These buildings were storage facilities for the supplies.” Mal’s voice was growing in volume and pitch now. “It’s been months since the last delivery. No wonder she thinks there’s a conspiracy.”

Her rant ended, Mal sighed. She reached over and picked some art things that had been on the table. Settling back into her seat, she started painting. Carlos figured that that’s what she had been doing before. He recognized the travel watercolor set from school, when they had to do some art projects outside.

Mal’s outburst had answered some of his questions, but Carlos didn’t think that Mal was going to speak more on the matter. She was completely absorbed in her task, strokes fast against the small pad of paper. He watched her for a while, digesting the information he received, but still coming up short on a lot of pieces of this puzzle.

When Mal’s painting became less feverish, Carlos tried again. “How many times have you been here?” Carlos would bet all his chores at the farm for a month that this wasn’t Mal’s first time. “Why are we here at all?”

The sound Mal made at his question made Carlos feel small. “Are you kidding?” she asked. “The guards that sent you over, they must have said something, right? About how long you’d be here?”

Carlos tried to remember. He had been hyperventilating all the way from the school to the island. It was the first time since he had started at Villeneuve that he had gotten sent to the fairies’ office. He had started a fire in his room. Completely by accident! Carlos had just been tinkering with a mechanical system he was fixing up. Villeneuve encouraged skills in science and technology, with engineering programs offered even to the lowest grades. Carlos had taken advantage of that. By his thinking, he could save a lot of time and effort taking care of the dalmatians if he could get his system working. Carlos probably shouldn’t have been fiddling around with it in his dorm room, but he really hadn’t expected the sparks to catch fire on his bedspread.

There hadn’t been much doubt in Carlos’ mind that he would be punished. Being sent off in a car, he thought that he’d been expelled, sent back to the farm in disgrace. Instead, he had ended up taking a trip across the water to a place that was the muse of nightmares. Being told to stay put had not given Carlos any confidence or reassurance. The guards had also said…. “One day. I think I’m only supposed to be here for a day.”

“Lucky you,” Mal replied. “I’m here for five days this time.”

Carlos’ eyes nearly bug out of his face. Seeing the look, Mal’s rage was rekindled.

“Don’t you get it?” Mal was beyond exasperated. “We’re being punished, but not like the other kids. No, they end up in detention. Us? We get sent here to the Isle like prisoners, like _villains._ It doesn’t matter who raised us. They still think there’s something in us that makes us evil.”

“Wh – What do you mean?” Carlos began to suspect that he knew where this was going, but he didn’t want to indulge those ideas. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be. He must have been mistaken. _My little girl_ , Maleficent had said. My _little girl._

“When I learned what adoption meant,” Mal said, sounding less like she was about to spit fire from her mouth. “I realized that Aurora and Philip can’t be my real parents.” She twisted a hand in her hair, bringing long locks of it up for Carlos to see. “I mean, it was obvious enough already, right? But they didn’t treat me the way they did Audrey. Maybe they used to, when I was smaller. Not now, though.” The look on Mal’s face was miserable. “What about you, Carlos? Did you know you were adopted?”

“I –”

To say that Carlos didn’t want to answer that question was an understatement. He barely even wanted to entertain the thought that he wasn’t Roger and Anita’s son. They had always treated him as such. Loved him, fed him, clothed him. They had taught him how to stand, how to walk, then run. He had cherished memories of learning how to ride a bicycle, how to milk a cow, how to ride a horse. Anita and Roger were always in those memories, burned deep into his brain, inextricable. He loved them so much. What child didn’t love their parents? No matter how much they confused or upset him sometimes, he was their child. He was a Radcliffe, right? They had raised him. Nothing could change that fact.

So why did Carlos feel like his whole world was about to be upended?

Carlos didn’t know Mal very well. Actually, it would be more accurate to say that he didn’t know Mal at all. Similarly, he didn’t think that she knew him. Perhaps just his name and his story, but not much else. But she faltered when she saw the look on his face. Carlos couldn’t imagine what was written there, so clearly for a near stranger to see, but it felt suspiciously like despair.

“I’m sorry,” Mal apologized. “I shouldn’t have said any of that. Just forget it.” She picked up her sketch pad again, this time using a pencil to draw something on a new page. “We'll hang out here and I’ll take you back before sunset.”

Mal put her concentration into her drawing, seemingly determined to let it go. Carlos wished he could be like her. Acting as if nothing was wrong. All he had to do was suffer through this punishment and then he’d be taken back to Auradon. He’d stay at Villeneuve, work hard at his studies and never get into trouble again. He’d work on his project in Mr Geppetto’s classroom, even. Carlos thought the teacher liked him well enough. Carlos could probably get permission to work on his own inventions, no problem. That way, Carlos wouldn’t get sent back here again. He could even forget that this had ever happened. Maleficent interrogating him, her guards making sure he didn’t flee. Mal being right there beside one of the worst villains of all time, watching as he suffered. This was all a fluke, he could convince himself of that.

Except he couldn’t. Carlos was never going to be capable of just letting this go.

He levered himself carefully out of his bean bag chair, walked around the place. He spent some time trying to see the Isle from the windows, but the view was either the sea or the brick walls of neighboring buildings. He ended up standing behind Mal, watching her work on her drawing.

It was him, Carlos realized. His dark hair, his freckles, the uniform he still had on while working on the feeding system for the dogs. It was a masterful piece of work. Mal must get a lot of praise from the school’s art mistress. He watched, mesmerized, as she added in some dalmatians too. At the sight of the black-spotted white coats taking shape, Carlos tried to boost up his courage to ask Mal the thing that had been bugging him since she had said the word ‘adopted’.

“Mal, you have to tell me.” To Carlos’ surprise, the words came out steady. Confident, even. He wouldn’t say that he brooked no argument, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer this time. He didn’t care if Mal thought she was protecting him. She had brought it up in the first place. Carlos had a right to know. “You know so much about all this –” he gestures broadly, encompassing the room, the building, the Isle. Even Auradon. He himself wasn’t too sure of what he meant, but he was certain that Mal knew just what he was talking about. “Mal, you were going to tell me something, weren’t you? About my parents.”

Mal wasn’t working on her drawing anymore. She had tried to act as if she hadn’t heard his words, but she had stopped now.

“Roger and Anita aren’t my parents.” Carlos left the statement there. It floated there between them, almost tangible. He waited for Mal to acknowledge it. She did so, with a tiny nod of her head.

Carlos closed his eyes, blocking a wellspring of tears from spilling over. He could stop here. That was more than enough information to go on. But in his heart, Carlos was a scientist. He needed his hypotheses to be verified. He needed the confirmation, whatever he could get.

“You were adopted by Sleeping Beauty and her Prince, but you’re actually Maleficent’s daughter.” Mal looked as though she too were going to cry, but she nodded, nonetheless. “I was taken in by the Radcliffes, brought up in their farm with all 101 of their dalmatians.” Carlos knew that he was rambling now, but he couldn’t help it. If there was anything he could do to delay saying the words, it meant that he could keep them from being true that much longer. Even if he would be the one saying it.

“If the pattern holds, then –” Carlos thought that he could do it. That he could admit this truth to himself and accept it. But no, he wasn’t strong enough for that. Tears were streaming down his face now and he felt like he was choking. Mal looked ready to reach out and do something. Stop him, maybe. But she didn’t.

“Guess my name should be Carlos de Vil?” he asked. He put it as a joke, but it fell flat. Mal looked frozen. In his head, Carlos screamed for her to respond. Positive, negative, it didn’t matter. He just needed to know. He needed someone else to admit it too. If not, he was sure that he would go crazy.

Carlos spent the rest of the day curled up in a ball in a bean bag chair, his tears soaked up by the red fabric. He had expected the nod that Mal had finally given to him, but there was no stopping his heart from feeling like it had turned to stone.

The Carlos that returned to Villeneuve School that night was a different Carlos than the one who had left it.


End file.
